


Never Not to Blame

by singingwithoutwords



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sex Pollen, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, unintentional victim-blaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1257163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingwithoutwords/pseuds/singingwithoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony knew being friendly with the intern was a Bad Idea, because Peter is smart and talented and laughs at his bad jokes, and Tony isn't allowed to have nice things; he always ruins them.  And yes, a covert supervillain attack on one of the company labs is completely his fault.</p><p> </p><p>  <span class="big">[<b>ON HIATUS.  <a href="http://singingwithoutwords.tumblr.com/post/128277718623/re-never-not-to-blame">HERE IS WHY</a>.   STOP ASKING WHEN I'M GOING TO UPDATE.</b>]</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate Title: Wherein Withoutwords Fucks With Tony Stark Even More

Peter came back to himself with an almost audible _snap_ of his higher brain functions turning back on. For several long seconds his mind still felt hazy and jumbled, trying to properly align and make sense of the past hour or so. He felt sore all over, panting, and he smelled blood.

It was the blood that let him shake off the indistinct memories and refocus on the present. There was something solid and warm under him, the quick measured thud of a heartbeat in his ear. A person. Peter levered himself up reluctantly, pale blue light flooding his vision for a moment, washing over metal and scarred flesh, scratches and bite marks starting to bruise along the clavicle, up the side of the neck over the carotid artery.

“Mr. Stark?”

He could remember Mr. Stark dropping in unannounced, remembered stammering and babbling like an idiot, then settling into an oral report on the SI project he was involved in, then...

Then the confused mess that was his most recent memories.

“Don't move,” Mr. Stark said. Whispered. He sounded out of breath and hurt, and Peter tried to shift back to get a better look at him but froze when he cried out. “Don't move! I'm begging you, kid, _don't fucking move_!”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter said automatically, holding as still as possible, still trying to process what the hell had happened.

“Just... just don't move,” Mr. Stark repeated, swallowing what sounded suspiciously like a whimper. “Hold still for a second, this... I just need a sec here.”

“What's wrong, Mr. Stark?”

Mr. Stark laughed. There was a hysterical edge to it. “Kid. Peter. Your name's Peter, right? Well, since you've got your dick up my ass, I think it's okay for you to drop the 'Mr. Stark' shit. Tony's- _fuck!_ ”

“I'm sorry!” Peter apologized quickly, not sure if it would help or hurt trying to move back where he'd been before jerking back to see that yes, apparently the time for formality was long gone. “I'm sorry, Mis- Tony. I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” Mr. Stark said, sighing. “Not your fault, should've kept my big mouth shut. Here's what we're gonna do- it looks like whatever the fuck we got slipped is wearing off for you, so I'm gonna get you off one last time. Getting you out will be a hell of a lot easier once you're soft.”

“You're bleeding.” Peter was sore, but he didn't _hurt_ , and there were no live specimens in this lab; that meant there was only one place the smell of blood could be coming from.

“A bit,” Mr. Stark admitted, closing his eyes. “Look, kid, no offense, but you're obviously new to the whole sex thing, and I was too muddled to do it right. I'll be fine.”

“Oh, God, you're bleeding. I hurt you.”

“No. Hey. Peter. Calm down. You didn't hurt me, the jackass who decided to roofie us did. Not your fault.”

Which was magnanimous of Mr. Stark, but Peter could _see_ him. He was pale, trembling so slightly even Peter could barely feel it, covered with sweat and... other bodily fluids. He could tell Mr. Stark was barely holding it together, that he was in pain, and they were still lying on the lab floor surrounded by the smell of blood.

And horribly, selfishly, all Peter could think about was losing this internship and the grant for college that went with it.

There was less resistance when he pulled away this time, and Mr. Stark didn't protest aside from a faint whine of pain as Peter turned, searching frantically for his clothing and dressing himself. His backpack... his backpack was by the table where he'd left it. He grabbed it and hugged it close to his chest as he stood and all but ran from the room, leaving Mr. Stark alone. Naked. Used.

He made it all the way home and up to his room before he realized he'd pulled on Mr. Stark's shirt by mistake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don'tjudgeme.  
> /hides


	2. Chapter 2

It was a very good thing that Tony was used to standing for long periods of time. Peter was a good kid, but he'd definitely been a virgin, and sitting down hurt. Probably would for at least a few more days.

It was also a good thing he had a habit of staying in his workshop for days at a time with little warning, because he didn't think he could look _anyone_ in the eye right now, least of all Captain America. He'd much rather isolate himself and plug the holes in off-site lab security, because no one should have been able to slip past them. Peter should never have had to go through that shit. Tony was going to find whoever thought it was okay to screw with his interns and destroy them, no matter what it took.

He had the music up loud, as loud as it could go without damaging his eardrums. It and the work distracted him from the upsetting spiral of inner loathing and pain, and also kept him from noticing if anyone tried to get in. He didn't want company right now.

A small screen popped up at the edge of his field of vision, away from the bulk of the work but close enough to catch his attention, and he turned toward it.

“Jarvis, music.”

The music volume dropped to a more background level, and Tony leaned carefully against the table as the screen enlarged. An e-mail. Normally not something Jarvis would bother him about, but this one was from Peter Parker to the director of the internship program, asking where to send his badge.

“Has anyone else seen this?”

“No, sir- I took the liberty of isolating it until you had a chance to read it.”

“Thanks, J, you're a pal.”

Tony had been through his fair share of shit, and he could guess what Peter was thinking, but Peter had no reason to feel responsible, and damned if he was going to let a kid that smart blow a chance this huge because supervillains - he was going with supervillain right now because professional espionage tended not to be this sick - were assholes.

“I want any trace of this e-mail destroyed,” Tony said. “It never got sent. And send the poor kid a text or something, let him know what happened is staying between us.”

“Consider it done,” Jarvis assured him. “Sir, are you certain you won't allow me to contact your private physician?”

“Why, so she can decide I'm drinking too much to put me on painkillers?” Tony asked, turning back to his work. “This code right here, this doesn't look like the work of someone good enough for me to hire. Examine that for me.”

Jarvis didn't say anything, just pulled a duplicate of the code in question and started processing. Tony could feel himself being judged, so it wasn't like vocalizing it was necessary.

He was right, though, and they both knew it- all a doctor could do was prescribe him something for the pain that he wouldn't be able to take with alcohol, and he so did not want to be sober right now. Not completely. He needed to be slightly buzzed just for a little while, until things settled down in his head and he could face the world again without cringing.

Also, the 'I had sex with an underage intern who had no idea what he was doing' conversation was one he planned to have never. He couldn't afford the kind of press that would bring.

“Sir, you may wish to look this over yourself,” Jarvis spoke up. “I've found several encrypted sections that should not be there.”

“Transfer them to the dummy server, then cut it loose,” Tony instructed, pulling up a stool and sitting on it very carefully. The dummy server would keep the code isolated, in case it contained anything dangerous, and they could decrypt it in relative safety. “Let's you and me rewrite this bit, just to be on the safe side.”

“That would require shutting down the lab entirely, sir,” Jarvis cautioned him. “This is basic security subroutines.”

“Do it.” He was not going to have a repeat of this. Ever. “Give everyone a paid day off. And let Pepper know, too, she'll skin me alive if she has to find out later.”

With any luck, she wouldn't ask any questions he couldn't answer.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Peter hadn't known what to expect when he showed up at the research lab after school the next day, to be honest. Despite the text from Mr. Stark earlier, he stepped into the building half expecting to be taken into custody, or at least be informed he was no longer welcome there. Instead he found a note at the receptionists' desk directing him to his new project, since his original project was suspended indefinitely. Apparently when Mr. Stark said he planned to keep what happened between them, he meant it.

The new project was a bigger one with two other interns – Samantha and Mike – who didn't seem very happy about Peter being there. He spent most of the afternoon running errands for them and the agronomist in charge of the lab and not doing much actual work.

Still, he was grateful. And a bit relieved. He knew how difficult it was to qualify for Stark Industries internships, and how hard it would be to get one with another company if he lost this one. Not to mention the staggering costs of college and how long it would take to pay back student loans without the grant he was counting on. Being a genius wasn't worth much unless you had the degrees to prove it, after all.

He'd barely been there half an hour before the PA system – completely devoid of feedback and static, by the way – chimed brightly, followed by the mellow voice of an older-sounding, very British man instead of the usual perky female announcer. “Attention all staff and visitors: regretfully, this facility will be closing for the day in 20 minutes, as emergency maintenance must be performed on essential systems. As compensation for the inconvenience, all employees will receive full pay for the hours lost, and all interns and volunteers will receive full credits toward their respective programs. Please shut down all equipment, collect all belongings, and exit the property. Thank you, and enjoy your evening off.”

Dr. Arkin sighed in annoyance, the most expressive he'd been so far, and took off his glasses. “You heard the man, kids- pack it up.”

Samantha rolled her eyes, pushing back from her station. “Great. We're jinxed. Who wants to hit the bar and complain?”

“A bit early to be getting drunk,” Dr. Arkin said, smiling. “But I think the lack of progress through no fault of our own is a good enough reason.”

Mike nodded, shutting down the equipment he'd been using. “I could go for a beer myself.”

“You guys have fun, then,” Peter said, storing the test tubes Samantha had told him desperately needed washing even though they were spotless. “See you tomorrow.”

“Oh, right- you're too young to drink,” Samantha said, tone indicating pretty clearly she hadn't forgotten that for a minute. “Sorry. We can go to Coney Island instead?”

“Still have to pass,” Peter told her. “Sorry.” He had homework, then he was meeting up with Gwen later, then he had patrol, which he'd skipped last night. Even Spider-Man was allowed to take personal days, right?

Mike patted him on the back on his way out the door, followed by Samantha and Dr. Arkin, leaving Peter to do final check and lock the door. He made sure everything was in place, grabbed his backpack, and headed out.

Gwen was at OsCorp. They'd planned it that way, done their best to set it up so their internship hours matched. It had seemed like the best way to fit a relationship into his seriously hectic life. Right now it sucked.

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket as he headed for the shuttle. A text, from the same number as the one that morning.

_**Hanging in there, kid?** _

Peter found himself smiling. Mr. Stark had a bit of a reputation – the politest thing Peter had overheard was 'thoughtless social misfit' – but he seemed like a good guy from where Peter stood, so he texted back.

_**ok. u?** _

The response time was way too short to prepare him for the reply: **_No. Just no. You are a genius, you do not get to use text talk bullshit._ **

Peter laughed outright, trying to muffle it in a vain attempt to avoid drawing attention to himself. **_ur using voice 2 txt software aren't u?_ ** he sent back, deliberately not switching to proper spelling and sentence structure.

_**I will make you a phone with voice-to-text software if it means you stop burning my eyeballs.** _

_**u rly don't hav 2.** _

_**I beg to differ, kid.** _

_**I can behave.** _ Peter sent back, which got him a wink emote, and he was boarding the subway before he realized Mr. Stark had never actually said how he was doing.  If nothing else, the man was a master of avoidance.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The data packets proved to be stubborn. They weren't masterpieces by any stretch of the imagination, but someone had been self-aware enough to wrap their average coding in an insane amount of security, and peeling off each layer without imploding the whole thing was proving tedious.

The bulk of the work, Tony left to the decryption algorithms on the dummy server, written for just exactly this purpose. But those algorithms were not an AI, so he had to hang around to poke it from time to time if he wanted this done before next year.

It was both a welcome distraction and a problem when Pepper called.

Tony loved Pepper. Pepper was everything he could ever want in a girlfriend, not to mention the best CEO to have ever ruled a Fortune 500 company. He'd probably wind up accidentally destroying the planet without her to keep him in line. She also knew how to read his thoughts, though, and he had kind of technically cheated on her with a hot 16-year-old.

“Good evening, Mr. Stark,” she said all crisply professional.

“Before you start yelling, I would just like to say I have a very good reason for shutting down that lab,” Tony said. “J will back me up here.”

“Oh?”

“The security protocols are compromised, I needed to rewrite them,” Tony explained. “There's important stuff in that lab, it's one of the biological ones, I don't like the thought of someone being able to waltz in and grab whatever like it's a corner gas station.”

“You've never been to a corner gas station, Tony,” Pepper said, relaxing out of her company self and into her person self.

“I've seen them in movies.”

She laughed at him, and it was better than the sound of a perfectly tuned engine coming to life for the first time in decades. “Okay, I'll let you get back to work,” she said. “And Tony?”

“Yes, your Ladyship?”

“Once you're done, we'll talk about what else is bothering you.”

“ _Je ne parle pas anglais,_ ”

“I mean it, Tony.”

“Will that be all, Miss Potts?”

“That will be all, Mr. Stark.”

Tony waited until he was absolutely sure she'd hung up before sighing. “J, shut down all communication with the outside world, please- I need my bubble.”

“Yes, sir. Do you wish to make an exception for Mr. Parker?”

Tony hesitated. He did like Peter, he was a good kid, and Tony did want to keep tabs on him. He honestly wouldn't mind talking to Peter while he worked, but there was the small catch of Peter having already suffered from being friendly with Tony Stark. There was no guarantee that wouldn't happen again if he kept the lines open between them.

“Okay. Yeah, let Peter through if he wants,” he decided. “Make an exception for Peter Parker, lock everyone else out.”

“Done,” Jarvis reported. “Shall we return to our work, sir?”

“Yes, we shall,” Tony agreed, sinking slowly onto a stool. He'd already been standing for hours, and his legs needed the rest. He was buzzed enough that he barely felt the flair of pain pressure caused- he'd be fine for a while. “Let's change our tactics- get me a couple access codes to run through these and see which way they twitch.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Je ne parle pas anglais” is French for "I don't speak English".


	5. Chapter 5

Homework didn't take as much time as Peter would have liked; he wound up helping Aunt May clean the house, just to have something to do. Not that he was really complaining, since it made her smile, and Aunt May's smiles were getting scarcer as the days went on.

They had an early dinner, since Peter had plans with Gwen that evening. Aunt May usually ate alone on nights Peter had intern hours at the lab, so again- he wasn't complaining, it made her smile. He made sure to say he loved her before he headed out, with a promise to be home by midnight that he would actually try to keep.

He took the subway rather than the Web Express, not quite ready to put his mask on. He wanted to be just Peter Parker for a little while, with maybe the exceptional acrobatic skill required to reach the bottom of the fire escape, the now-familiar route he took to visit Gwen, who was actually waiting at the window when he reached it, and opened it with a laugh.

“Again with the fire escape?” she asked.

“Your doorman is still intimidating,” Peter said with a sheepish shrug, climbing into the room.

“You are such a goof,” she accused, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“You love that about me, though, right?”

“Among other things,” she said, sitting on the edge of her bed and patting the mattress. He dropped his bag in the chair by the window and obediently sat next to her. “So, you gonna tell me what's wrong?”

“I never said anything was wrong,” he protested, ruining it a bit by sounding insanely guilty.

“Peter, I am your girlfriend. I can tell when something's bothering you. Talk to me.”

He wanted to. He wanted to very badly, because Gwen was smart and could probably tell him what he should do now, but it wasn't just his secret, and Mr. Stark would be upset if he did. He hadn't actually sworn an oath of secrecy or anything, but that didn't mean he could just blab.

But maybe he could... half-blab. Skirt the issue, because confessing what he'd done would be a relief in and of itself.

“If you... hurt someone. Accidentally. If you accidentally hurt someone but the person you hurt said it's okay, is it really okay?”

“That would depend, I guess,” Gwen said. “Why? What happened?”

“I can't really say,” Peter said, ducking his head slightly. “He wanted to keep it just between us.”

“He who?” Gwen pressed. “Peter, did somebody hurt you?”

“No! No, _I_ hurt someone else. But that person said it was okay, and that we shouldn't tell anyone.”

“Well, he obviously didn't mean me,” Gwen assured him, patting Peter's knee.

“I'm pretty sure he did.”

“Tell me, anyway. What happened?”

Peter hesitated, probably not as long as he should have, then sighed. “You have to promise you won't tell anyone.” She nodded, and he took a deep breath. “Yesterday while I was interning at the lab, I was... exposed to something. Some kind of drug, probably airborne. It... I lost control of myself. I don't even remember most of what happened, just... after.”

Gwen squeezed his hand slightly and waited while he tried to get his thoughts in order.

“I sort of cheated on you,” he confessed after several minutes of silence. “While I was under the influence of whatever it was, I slept with someone else. I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she assured him, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I mean it, Peter.”

“I feel like it is,” he said quietly. “I feel like I should have been able to... to hold back. To resist whatever it was, to... I hurt him. I'm not sure how badly, but I know I hurt him. I know he was bleeding.”

“Peter...” Gwen sounded sympathetic. Understanding. He'd been afraid she might be mad. Might break up with him, not that he would have been able to blame her if she did.

“I just... ran out and left him there, bleeding.” He huffed a soft, halfhearted laugh. “I was in such a rush I grabbed his shirt by mistake. Still have it, even.”

She slipped her arms around him and hugged him tight. It was exactly what he needed, and he leaned into it gratefully.

“It's okay, Peter,” she whispered soothingly. “It's okay. It wasn't your fault.”

He wanted, very very badly, to break down and cry. Instead he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and reluctantly pulled away. “I have to head out now. Work to do.”

“Maybe you should take the night off,” Gwen suggested, letting her hand catch on the inside of his elbow, just resting there.

“I did that last night,” he said, standing up. “I can't miss patrol two nights in a row.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, and she sighed.

“Okay. Just... be careful. And remember, what happened- it wasn't your fault.”

He couldn't quite bring himself to believe that, even when Gwen was the one saying it, but he nodded again, anyway.

Gwen walked him to the window and opened it for him, handing him his bag with a good-bye kiss. “Stay safe.”

He kissed her back and slipped out onto the fire escape. “I will.”

He waited until she'd closed the window and turned away before he suited up and set out on patrol. Maybe some time to himself would help him clear his head.

His phone buzzed. He almost ignored it, but then only two people would be texting him: Gwen and Mr. Stark, and he didn't want to ignore either of them.

It turned out to be Mr. Stark.

**Sorry about closing the lab on you today- had important genius coding to do.**

The suit gloves made texting a little tricky, but he managed to send a properly spelled and punctuated reply:  **no problem; got to spend more time at home**

**I see you finally learned how to type like a human being.** Mr. Stark sent back three buildings later, and Peter smiled behind his mask.

**I can go back to chatspeak just to spite you**

**Not cool, dude. I'm too old to decipher that shit.**

**you're never too old for anything, Mr. S. about to get busy- might not reply for a while**

**Fair enough, I know when I'm being a pain in the ass. Take care of yourself, kid.**

**you, too**

Peter stowed his phone once he was pretty sure Mr. Stark was done and set off again feeling a bit better. At least Mr. Stark wasn't holding a grudge. Peter still felt guilty, and probably always would, but as long as Mr. Stark was okay, he could live with that.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The day after having to shut down that lab, Jarvis alerted him to another e-mail from Peter. It had been sent to Tony's private email, and they would have to have a talk about how the kid had gotten that, nobody had his private email but Pepper, Rhodey, and the team. The email itself was pretty short, two parts apology for bothering him and one part admitting he was thinking of leaving the internship program. Again.

Tony sighed. “J, blood alcohol- legal or no?” He'd cut back on the drinking as the pain faded, but not stopped entirely just yet.

“Legal, surprisingly,” Jarvis answered. He did not approve of self-medication through alcohol. “I assume you plan to pay Mr. Parker a visit?”

“Yeah. He should be home, right?”

“Public school has released for the day, and he is not scheduled for internship hours,” Jarvis reported. “Barring social plans, he should be at home.”

“Get me the address, then. And call somebody to lay in supplies, Dummy's running out of smoothie ingredients to attempt to poison me with. I'll be back.”

“Of course, sir,”

Tony's phone chimed, signaling he had the Parker homestead, and he left the lab for the first time in days. Hopefully he wouldn't run into any of the team on his way out.

 

* * *

 

Tony decided that he liked May Parker, p retty much as soon as she opened the door. The very first thing she did was go wide-eyed, grab his arm, and haul him inside. No hello, no oh my God you're Iron Man, no what brings you to this neck of the woods, just a good strong yank and a suspicious glance up and down the street before she shut the door.

“You must be Mrs. Parker,” he said, holding out his hand, because he did in fact know the basics of polite human interaction, no matter what vile lies Rhodey told. “I'm-”

“Tony Stark, yes,” she interrupted, shaking his hand briefly. “What's wrong? Is it another alien invasion? Do you need a place to hide? Should I call the police?”

Tony smiled, inordinately amused that her mind immediately went to superhero business. “No, I'm here on strictly Stark Industries business,” he assured her. “Your nephew Peter's one of our scholarship interns, I'm pretty sure you knew that since you had to sign about ninety thousand pages of paperwork when he was accepted, anyway, I need to talk to him about something research-related that has nothing at all to do with any potential invasions, alien or otherwise.”

“Oh.” Tony couldn't be completely sure, but he thought he caught the faintest flicker of disappointment. God, he loved New Yorkers. “Please make yourself at home, Mr. Stark. I'll go let Peter know you're here.” She showed him to the living room, then headed upstairs, calling for Peter.

Tony decided to take advantage of this rare excursion into the world where real people lived, examining the room in detail. It was well laid out, appealingly furnished and spotlessly clean, with the expected family photos on the wall. Mainly they were of Peter at varying stages of childhood, along with May and a man Tony assumed was Peter's uncle- deceased, according to his file. They looked like a happy little family. Close.

Peter sounded like a herd of elephants coming down the stairs. Pack. Parade? No, that one sounded stupid. Herd worked. The kid sounded like a herd of elephants as he descended the stairs and thundered into the living room.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and rocking slightly on his heels. Nervous gestures and no evidence of surprise. “What brings you here?”

“Something came up on our project I need to discuss with you,” Tony said, before turning the full force of his most devastating smile on May. “I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Parker,” he said apologetically. “I'm sure you're the absolute soul of discretion and anything I say around you will be held in strictest confidence, but there are people who will hit me with hardcopies of my own science if I let even you overhear this.”

May made vague hand gestures at them, smiling. “I understand completely, Mr. Stark- you two go talk in Peter's room. He claims he cleaned it yesterday, so don't open the closet.”

“ _Aunt May!_ ” Peter protested, as if _every_ normal teenage boy didn't shove everything he owned in his closet and call his room clean.

“Oh, hush, you,” May said fondly, pulling Peter down so she could kiss him on the cheek before giving him a little push toward the stairs. “I'll be down here if you two need anything.”

Tony somehow managed not to laugh through the entire exchange, following Peter up the stairs and to a room that reminded him strongly of his first apartment. It had been a cramped little loft in Boston, more of a bolthole to escape his life than an actual home, and the chaos of half-built machines, clothing, and paper there was near identical to the same chaos here.

“Nice place,”

Peter ducked his head, blushing, and started tossing things in corners. “I did clean,” he said. “Sort of. A bit.”

Tony invited himself to sit on the only chair in the room, putting himself into serious mode. “Park it, Parker. You know the discussion I'm here to have.”

Peter sighed, sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. “This is about my e-mail.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah. I'm not letting you quit.”

“Why not? After what happened, I thought-”

“Forget about what happened,” Tony said. “What happened doesn't matter.”

“But you got hurt.”

“Which wasn't your fault.”

“But-”

“Not. Your. Fault,” Tony repeated with every ounce of sincere conviction he could muster. “I mean that, Peter. I don't blame you, and you shouldn't, either. Got me?”

Peter looked down and to the side, gnawing nervously on his bottom lip. He glanced up at Tony, then quickly back at the floor before speaking.

“I went to visit my girlfriend yesterday,” he said. “I told her. What happened, I mean. I didn't tell her about you,” he added quickly. “Just... what I did. She said it wasn't my fault, too.”

“She sounds like a smart cookie,” Tony said, smiling. “You should listen to her.”

Peter ducked his head and smiled quite possibly _the_ dopiest smile Tony had ever seen. It was adorable.

“Look,” Tony said. “I can't actually make you not quit, that's kind of against human rights laws or something, but I seriously don't want this to cost you your future, so... do me a favor, give it some time. Just a month or two. Let's both of us get ourselves back on track and really think things through. Think you can do that?”

Peter nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

They lapsed into a surprisingly comfortable silence for a minute before Tony broke the moment with a sigh.

“I can't believe you told your girlfriend.”

“You don't know what Gwen is like, Mr. Stark- you'd have told her, too.”

“I managed not to tell Pepper,” Tony pointed out.

“Well, you've had more practice at this than me,” Peter said, spreading his hands helplessly. “Maybe once I'm as old as you I'll have learned how to keep secrets from her.”

Tony laughed, taking off his sunglasses and hitting Peter lightly on the head with the frames. “Respect your elders, kiddo.”

Peter laughed, too, standing. “I... I still have your shirt,” he said. “From the other day.”

“Keep it,” Tony said, standing as well. “I better get out of here before someone comes looking for me. Take care of yourself, okay?”

Tony showed himself out, stopping to say goodbye to May, who tried to convince him to stay for dinner. He declined, managing to escape with a tupperware of meatloaf and an invitation to come back any time he wanted. He actually felt a lot better by the time he made it back home, slipping into his workshop without running into anyone and getting back to work.

The meatloaf was... unique. He ate the whole thing, anyway.

 


	7. Chapter 7

On Friday, Peter foiled a jewelry store robbery, then spent three long hours doing grunt work for Samantha and ignoring Mike's knowing smirks. Dr. Arkin didn't seem to be aware of Peter's existence, which Peter didn't really mind; at least he wasn't going to have to convince Samantha and Mike that he wasn't interested in competing for favor or recognition. Sure, he'd like to be doing some actual _work_ again, but he recognized a pecking order when he saw one, and trying to upset it would not be worth his while. He'd just as soon stay invisible.

After his internship hours were over, he went straight home; Gwen was out with her family tonight, and he was carrying a bit too much stuff to go right out on patrol. So tonight would be home, dinner with Aunt May, _then_ patrol.

Aunt May was waiting for him with a bright smile, wearing her soft blue dress for going out, the one he hadn't seen her in since before Uncle Ben died.

“Welcome home, sweetie,” she said. “Go get cleaned up and put on your nice shirt- we're eating out tonight.”

“What?” They hadn't gone out to eat in ages. Years, if pizza and the occasional Chinese buffet didn't count. Even when they still had Uncle Ben's income, it had just been too expensive most of the time. “Are you- can we-”

“We can afford it,” Aunt May said. “I promise, Peter. Mr. Stark compensated us for your time yesterday.”

“I didn't exactly give him much of it,” Peter objected. Mr. Stark had barely spent half an hour with him, and it wasn't as if they'd actually been talking about anything that benefited Mr. Stark or Stark Industries.

“Well, apparently Mr. Stark thinks your time is _very_ valuable,” Aunt May said, picking up a bank slip from the table and holding it out. “He transferred a consultation fee into my account last night.”

Peter took the bank slip, almost afraid of what he was about to see. Despite Aunt May's best efforts, he was aware of how little she'd had yesterday morning, and this new number was two digits longer.

“One hundred thousand dollars,” she said warmly, sounding exactly like she had the first time one of his photos had been published in the school newspaper. “My little Peter, a paid Stark Industries consultant.”

Aunt May was smart, she _had_ to know that was way too much money. It had to look wrong, suspicious, at least a little. But maybe, with all the financial difficulty they'd been dealing with lately... maybe she just didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe she was just so grateful to have some way of paying off the growing pile of bills on the counter that she was willing to just... not care.

Aunt May took back the bank slip, pushing him gently toward the stairs. “Go, go, get ready!”

Peter nodded, hurrying up to his room. He made sure the door was closed and locked before digging out his cell phone, not realizing until after the line started ringing that maybe Mr. Stark was busy.

“Peter!” Mr. Stark answered cheerfully before he had a chance to change his mind and hang up. “To what do I owe this most welcome of distractions?”

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, biting his lip. “Um...”

“Your aunt told you about the money, huh?” Mr. Stark guessed. “Don't worry, I made sure to make it a gift- the full amount's yours, no taxes due at all, enjoy.”

“No, I'm not _worried_ , I just- that is way too much money, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, kicking off his shoes and trying to remember where his clean dress shirts were.

“Pretty sure I spend more a month keeping all my employees in coffee, kiddo.”

Peter pulled off his shirt, locating a clean pair of pants and exchanging his jeans for them. “I know it's probably not a lot to _you_ , but-”

“Look, Peter, something you should know about me: I don't do people. Not well.” Mr. Stark sighed. “I- there are really only three ways I know how to fix things, and money's the only one that works here. It's not charity, okay, this is just me looking out for a friend. Unless you don't want me to think of you as a friend. I completely understand that, it takes a special kind of lunatic to want to be friends with me, just really, let me do this, okay?”

“I understand,” was what Peter _meant_ to say. What came out instead was, “I think of you as a friend.”

“Oh.” There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, then, “I guess you're a special kind of lunatic, then. Welcome to the party.”

Peter smiled. “Thanks,” he said. “Glad to be invited. And... thank you.”

“Don't mention it,” Mr. Stark said. “Seriously, don't. Emotions give me hives. I'm breaking out as we speak, seriously, I need to shower now.”

Peter laughed, which was probably what Mr. Stark had been aiming for. “I'll let you go, then,” he said. “You have a good night.”

“You, too, Peter,” Mr. Stark said, disconnecting the call.

Peter hung up as well and set his phone down, hurrying through getting dressed the rest of the way before heading back downstairs.

“Ready to go, Mrs. Parker?” he asked, offering Aunt May his arm.

“Whenever you are, Mr. Parker,” she replied, grabbing her purse and jacket and looping her arm in his.

Peter escorted her out the door, determined not to feel guilty. Even if Peter hadn't done anything to earn that money, Aunt May more than deserved the happiness and relief it obviously brought.

* * *

Aunt May had to work Saturday. Peter saw her off, waiting long enough to be sure she wasn't coming back, then donned his suit and went out on patrol.

There wasn't much going on, aside from a small apartment fire and a couple attempted muggings. With the Avengers based at Stark Tower, most of the big fish had moved to slightly less justice-flavored waters. Even the baddies who had personal grudges against Spider-Man didn't seem inclined to make waves lately.

The day was slow enough that Peter actually switched back to his civvies for a while, wandering Midtown. He picked up a paper at a newstand, flipping through celebrity gossip as he walked, until the name 'Stark' caught his eye.

The article was short, with an old stock picture of Mr. Stark and Miss Potts, and was titled _Trouble in Paradise?_. Peter stepped out of foot traffic and leaned against a building, reading it almost against his will.

Logically, there was no reason to suppose there was any truth to it. The paper was basically trash. It made the Daily Bugle look like a paragon of trustworthy journalism. And even if Miss Potts _had_ left for California two days ago, so what? She had a company to run that happened to still be sort of based in L.A.- it made _sense_ for her to go there from time to time.

Sense and logic, however, were not equipped to handle crushing misplaced guilt and healthy paranoia, and Peter could not shake the horrible thought that maybe Mr. Stark's relationship _was_ in trouble, and it was _all his fault_.

He dumped the paper in the nearest garbage can, walking quickly away, and managed almost a full minute before he had his cell phone out, listening to it ring and telling himself he was overreacting.

Normally Mr. Stark answered on the second ring. This time, it rang four times before the call was picked up, and the voice on the other end was most definitely not Mr. Stark, vaguely British and slightly distorted. “May I help you?”

“Um...” Peter said. “I- i-is Mr. Stark there?”

“Sir is currently resting, Mr. Parker,” the stranger said. An employee? For some reason, Peter had trouble picturing Tony paying someone to answer his phone for him. He seemed more likely to just ignore anyone he didn't want to talk to. “Shall I wake him?”

“No, that's okay,” Peter said hastily. “I just... why is he sleeping now? It's, what, one in the afternoon?”

“1:13pm. Sir does not maintain what one would consider a 'normal' sleep schedule.”

That, Peter could see. “True. Um... if it's not prying to ask, how is he doing?”

“As well as can be expected,” the man said. “He has been working himself rather hard lately. I do try my best to see he takes care of himself, but he isn't always cooperative.”

“I can imagine,” Peter said. “But he's okay? Nothing... upsetting happened in the past few days?”

“Is there something specific that has you worried, Mr. Parker?” the man asked, sounding a little amused.

Peter sighed, telling himself very sternly that he _would not blush_. “I just- it's stupid, I know it is, but, there was this article, about Mr. Stark and Miss Potts, and I-”

“Ah.” Peter got the distinct impression that only impeccable manners were keeping him from being laughed at. “Rest assured, Mr. Parker, there is no significant strain on sir's relationship with Miss Potts. Her recent trip to L.A. has been scheduled for quite some time, predating your personal involvement in sir's life. You have done nothing to upset the existing balance.”

“Thank goodness,” Peter sighed, feeling muscles he hadn't realized were so tense relax. “Thank you, um... I- I don't know your name.”

“You may call me Jarvis, Mr. Parker. And may I say, I'm very glad to have spoken to you personally. Sir has been under a great deal of strain recently, and you have done much to keep him grounded and sane.”

“Oh.” Okay, so much for not blushing. “I'm... glad I could help?”

“More than I can possibly express, Mr. Parker. Shall I have sir call you when he wakes?”

“No, that's okay,” Peter said. “Thank you again, Jarvis. Take- take care of him, okay?”

“Always, Mr. Parker.”

* * *

Sunday could best be described as lazy. He and Aunt May spent most of it playing board games, a little of it making grand plans for the money Mr. Stark had given them, interrupted here and there by texts from Mr. Stark himself.

Aunt May prodded Peter into reminding Mr. Stark he was welcome to join them for dinner any time he wanted. Mr. Stark responded by inviting to take them out for Italian. In Italy.

Monday was about the same, with the exception of school. He spent the afternoon with Gwen, the evening with Aunt May, and the night on patrol, during which nothing of any real note happened. He slept fairly well and woke up on Tuesday morning rested, feeling very much as if it was going to be just as good a day as yesterday.

He didn't know it, but he was just caught in the calm before the storm.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look- the storm.

Tuesday dawned cloudy but not overcast, just the comfortable side of warm. The weather service said a 10% chance of rain, but the chances were really closer to 8.72%. Pepper in far-off L.A. had only just gone to bed.

Tony was six or seven hours out of a power nap when Jarvis relayed all that, plus the early edition headlines. He did that every day, whether Tony was asleep or not. Tony made distracted noises over the code he was working on, which satisfied Jarvis. Honestly he had no idea how that got started or when, but he had no intention of ending it; the morning news brief was an ingrained routine to him now, and he'd miss it if it were gone.

Tony sighed, cracking his neck, and glared at the screen in front of him. He'd finally peeled open the goddamn data packets, and what they were hiding made absolutely no sense.

“Jarvis, what am I looking at here?”

“It appears to be a remote access link to the internal surveillance system,” Jarvis said immediately.

“Somebody went to all that trouble to watch my security footage?” Tony demanded. “Really? Of all the systems to sink their little cyberclaws into, they chose the _cameras_?”

“I would not presume to know the reasoning of hypothetical supervillains, sir,” Jarvis said. “Perhaps- sir, Captain Rogers, Agent Barton, and Agent Romanov are requesting entrance to the lab. Shall I allow them in?”

Tony hesitated. He hadn't seen the rest of the team in nearly a week now, and while he wasn't adverse to the concept of company at the moment, he really did want to dig further into this intrusion, see if he could trace it back to its origin, and he couldn't do that with The American Dream and the Spy Twins underfoot and poking things. Then again, they were kind of technically his team – he didn't dare even mentally voice the sneaking hope they might actually be _friends_ – and it was probably rude to keep ignoring them now that they were actively seeking him out.

“Let 'em in,” he decided, shutting down his work for the moment and searching among the nearest coffee mugs for one that still felt a little warm.

Any idea of this being a social call died pretty quick; the trio entered the lab in a unified knot, and Steve looked like he was looking for someone to punch in the face. Natasha was on point, carrying a file folder in one hand, and Tony hadn't seen Clint this pissed since the last time someone mentioned Loki in front of him.

Tony stood and shifted so that there was a table between them, just in case, firmly reminding himself that there was no way for them to know.

“Are we having a team meeting?” he asked. No point hiding the fact that something was about to go down in a big way. “Because if we are, we're missing somebody. Where's Brucie?”

“Dr. Banner needed to go calm himself down,” Natasha said, slipping several glossy and paper-sized somethings out of her folder and dropping them on the table. “He was more than a little upset after seeing these.”

Tony frowned, pulling the top one closer for a better look. It was a blown-up still frame from a security camera, in crisp hi-def color because Tony would never tolerate crappy black-and-white footage from _his_ security systems. He only needed a quick glance to pinpoint the exact moment, match it up with the blurred memory of shoving Peter against a table and kissing him like he was more important than air. Just the one glance was all he could stomach before he had to look away.

“What's the matter, Stark?” Clint asked. “I thought you loved flaunting your conquests.”

“Peter isn't a conquest,” Tony said, trying to summon the energy to be pissed that any of them would talk that way about Peter, or about him.

“Oh, what, you're in love with the kid?” Clint spat. “Yeah, right.”

“Where'd you get those?” Tony asked, turning his back on them completely, desperate to escape the absolute disgust in their eyes, the judgment and blame.

“You weren't your usual thorough self when you went deleting evidence.” Apparently Clint was going to be doing all the talking here. “How old is that kid, twenty? Twenty-one?”

“Sixteen,” Tony couldn't help but correct, knowing he was only digging himself deeper, and he resolutely _did not_ flinch at the noise of revulsion Clint made.

“I knew you'd bang anything that moved, Stark, but I thought you'd at least keep it _legal_.”

“You have no idea what happened,” he said, for all the good it would do, which was exactly none.

“We know _exactly_ what happened,” Clint disagreed. “Not only do we know you forced yourself on a _teenager_ , we also know you've been harassing him. Did you show up at his home because he threatened to tell, or were you hoping for another round? Was the money to shut him up, or because to you he's nothing but a whore?”

“Don't talk about Peter like that,” Tony said flatly. He almost turned to face them when he said it, but he couldn't put on a convincing mask, and he couldn't let them see weakness. There was too much of his blood in the water already.

“A little too close to home?” Clint asked. “You disgust me, Stark. You're worse than some of the scumbags we've had to fight recently.”

Tony wanted to argue with that. He really did. He even got as far as opening his mouth, but nothing came out. Sex pollen or not, he  _had_ had sex with a sixteen-year-old kid. And he'd been texting Peter daily since. And he'd gone to his house, and Peter hadn't exactly been  _comfortable_ about the money, and really, what proof did he have that Peter was actually okay with the whole thing and not just letting him do whatever the hell he wanted because who's some teenager to boss around Tony Fucking Stark? For all he knew, Peter was the one who'd told them about the visits and the money. Maybe Peter was the whole reason they were even here.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

“Just get to the point,” Tony said. He was just... drained. So tired. Too tired to be mad. Far too tired to pretend he didn't know what was coming.

“You're off the team,” Steve – no, this was definitely Captain America speaking – said, and his condemnation was so much _heavier_ than Clint's. It felt so much more personal. “If you want us out of your home, that's perfectly fine with us- I'm sure SHIELD can find somewhere else for us to stay while we decide what needs to be done.”

_Somewhere that isn't owned by a child rapist_ went unsaid, but not unheard.

“Are you going to take this to Pepper?”

“She deserves to know what kind of monster you really are,” Clint said.

“She deserves to hear it from me,” Tony replied, forcing his spine to stay straight. “I'll tell her myself.” If his entire world was going to be torn down, it should at least be his hand doing the tearing.

“You have 24 hours before we make our final decision,” Steve said. “Use them wisely.”

Tony nodded. He didn't turn around. He couldn't let them see the tears burning his eyes, making his vision blur. He was too vulnerable as it was. “Understood.”

They left without another word. Tony didn't move as the seconds ticked by, barely breathed until he was sure they were gone.

“Sir?” Jarvis said quietly, breaking the silence. “What do you need?”

“I need...” A time machine. A way to fix this. A way to see to it he'd never been born. “I need some air. Is the way to the garage clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Don't wait up for me.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Peter had been in the lab all of ten minutes when the landline rang. Mike answered it, even though Dr. Arkin was closer. Peter tuned the conversation out, since the chances of it being for him were roughly equal to the chances of winning the lottery, and concentrated on reorganizing the unused equipment in the corner (more makework from Samantha).

Mike hung up after a minute, frowning. “Parker, you've got a visitor,” he said. “Conference Room Three.”

Peter frowned right back. Who would be meeting him here, especially not at the front desk? If someone were here to pick him up, that would make sense, but meeting him in a conference room? “Are you sure?”

“The lady at the front desk told me there's a party to meet Peter Parker in Conference Room Three,” Mike said, shrugging. “That's all I know.”

Peter nodded, grabbing his bag. “I guess I'll either be right back or see you tomorrow, then,” he said. Mike gave him a thumbs-up, Samantha waved absently without diverting attention from her microscope, and Dr. Arkin remained buried in his own work as Peter stepped out into the hall.

The door to Conference Room Three was open when Peter reached it. He knocked lightly on the frame before going in, anyway, and never in his wildest dreams could he have expected the three people waiting for him, even though none of them were in uniform.

Peter had fought a few times alongside the Avengers, and none of them tried particularly hard to keep their identities secret; Captain American and Iron Man were the only ones with masks, and literally everyone in the country right down to toddlers knew who they were. So he recognized all three, but had to pretend he didn't know who two of them were.

“You must be Peter,” Steve 'Captain America' Rogers said, stepping up to Peter and holding out a hand. “It's nice to meet you.”

Peter took his hand on autopilot, dropping his bag on the table within easy reach. “It's nice to meet you, too, Captain,” he said, mind racing. “Though I'm at a bit of a loss as to why.”

“We – my colleagues and I – wanted to talk to you about something,” Captain Rogers said, turning slightly to glance back at Black Widow and Hawkeye. “Do you two... ?”

Black Widow crossed the short distance and held out her hand, smiling pleasantly. “Natasha Romanov,” she said. “Agent Barton and I are with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

“But that's a bit of a mouthful, so we mostly just call it SHIELD,” Agent Barton spoke up.

Peter nodded, shaking Agent Romanov's hand as well. He still had no clue why half the Avengers were here, especially without Mr. Stark. If they needed his help, it would only make sense to have the Avenger he technically worked for ask him, right? Had something happened to Mr. Stark? If so, why come to him?

“I don't mean to be rude, but can someone tell me what this is about?” he asked.

Captain Rogers cleared his throat, glancing at his teammates again. “Maybe we should all sit down?” he suggested, thereby pretty much guaranteeing that Peter wasn't going to like whatever they had to say.

“I'd rather stand, if that's okay,” Peter said. If it came down to it, he could probably outrun them. “What is it?”

“It's... it's kind of personal, and I want you to know that we never intended to violate your privacy, it's just...” Captain Rogers took a deep breath, as if he needed to force the words out, “We know what happened here last week.”

It actually took Peter a second to parse what he was saying. They knew. They knew about what had happened in the lab, about what he'd done to Mr. Stark. “Mr. Stark said that was just between us,” he said.

“We know that, too, and he had no right to ask that of you.”

“Isn't that really his-”

“And if you want to press charges, we'll help you.”

Again, it took Peter a second. “What? Wait, back up a second- why would _I_ press charges?”

“I know Mr. Stark can be intimidating, Peter, but we'll protect you from him if we have to,” Captain Rogers said, practically bleeding sincerity. “We won't let him hurt you again.”

“Someone's misunderstanding something here, and I'm pretty sure it's you guys,” Peter said. He was starting to get a _really_ bad feeling about this. “How did you even find out?”

“We received a tip-off. Security tape,” Agent Barton explained. “Video was a bit scrambled, probably because Stark tried to erase it, but we saw enough.”

“Obviously you didn't,” Peter disagreed. “Or you'd know that if anyone has a right to press charges, it's Mr. Stark. _I'm_ the one who... who... what do you think he did?”

“We know that he- that Mr. Stark forced himself on you,” Captain Rogers said. “It's okay- it's not your fault.”

“It wasn't _his_ fault,” Peter disagreed. “Somebody gassed the lab, some kind of drug. Mr. Stark must have-”

“Even drugged, Peter, he had no right to do that to you,” Captain Rogers insisted.

“You're not listening to me!” Peter protested, frustrated with his inability to explain and their inability to _listen_. Captain Rogers opened his mouth, but Peter cut him off. “No, don't interrupt- just listen. The lab was _gassed_. That means it was an airborne drug. We had to breathe it in. The arc reactor, it has to diminish his lung capacity, probably significantly, which means I got a larger dose of whatever it was than him.”

“Which means he should-”

“ _Let me finish!”_ Agent Barton snapped his mouth shut, and Peter rushed to explain before they got over their surprise. “I got a larger dose, but he still- he was probably still somewhat capable of rational thought, and he knew I wasn't. He could have- I was the one... the one on top. The one doing the- the penetrating. And Mr. Stark _let_ me, even though he had to know- I was out of my mind, he wasn't. He could have done it without hurting me, and he had to know doing it the way we did would get him hurt, and it did. If anyone raped anyone that day, _I_ raped _him_.”

“Even out of his suit, Mr. Stark could have contained you,” Captain Rogers insisted.

“No, he couldn't have.”

Peter wasn't the only one who turned to stare at Agent Barton, who was staring right back at Peter, expression thoughtful.

“What?” Captain Rogers asked, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I'm not gonna out the kid,” Agent Barton said. “But if he's who I think he is – and I'm about 95% sure over here – then there's no way Stark would have stood a chance in a physical fight. Hell, he could take _me_ if he really wanted to.”

“I probably could, hand-to-hand,” Peter agreed. Much as he disliked SHIELD maybe knowing his identity, it was a small price to pay if it helped Mr. Stark. “I'm a lot stronger than I look.”

Agent Romanov straightened slightly, her face going completely blank. Captain Rogers looked uncomprehending for a second or two, then understanding dawned in his expression, followed closely by horror and something suspiciously like guilt. “Oh, God,” he whispered.

The feeling of dread in Peter's gut multiplied. “What? What did you do?”

“We didn't mean-”

“ _What did you do?_ ”

“We thought he'd- that-” Captain Rogers foundered helplessly until Agent Romanov took pity on him.

“We removed him from the team roster,” she said flatly. “We told him he was on probation until we decided what to do about this.”

“And what did he do?” Peter asked.

“He left. We assumed he moved to one of his other properties. No one has heard from him since.”

Peter nodded. He'd been afraid of that. The Mr. Stark he'd gotten to know in the past week wasn't the arrogant, selfish manchild everyone thought, and to have his team turn on him like this...

Peter turned, grabbing his backpack and heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Captain Rogers asked, moving after him.

“To find Mr. Stark,” Peter answered without even slowing down. “Before he does something incredibly stupid.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
>  For those of you wondering why no update yet, please see [this post](http://singingwithoutwords.tumblr.com/post/128277718623/re-never-not-to-blame) on tumblr.  
>  **

**Author's Note:**

> [ **ON HIATUS.[HERE IS WHY](http://singingwithoutwords.tumblr.com/post/128277718623/re-never-not-to-blame). STOP ASKING WHEN I'M GOING TO UPDATE.** ]


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